A Shadow In The Sun
by Chain Mell
Summary: SQL: Death's Tunnel - A year's passed since his disappearance; something's amiss in the Winner Household. After a disturbing event, the Quatre is forced into high security. And just who is Marc Duncan?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: You know, I should really be trying to finish Compromised Vitality. But the word 'should' is usually ignored and therefore...obsolete. But the real question is: can I really finish this thing by the end of the year?**_

_**I hope so.**_

**DISCLAIMER**_**: Of COURSE I own the G-Boys! I sued and hemmed and hawed and got my own way. Lord knows that every night we have parties, get piss drunk and I get to watch them writhe in total coital bliss whenever I want to. **_

_**...Then I wake up and grumble at the fact that my dream was just that. A dream.**_

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**CHAPTER ONE: My Butler - Understanding Bodyguard**

Quatre sighed and rubbed his temples. Today had been one of those days where the papers seemed to pile up everytime he blinked. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the last twelve meetings and Trowa had been called back to the circus to help out a bit on L-3. So comfort was basically far from reach and now the blond CEO of the Winner business was miserable beyond measure.

A soft knock, which seemed like a foghorn inches away from his ear because of the splitting headache, sounded and a raven head poked through. Mismatched eyes landed on the obviously stressed man and the young man sighed.

"Should I tell Mr. Weiss to come back in another week or so?"

_Oh dear Allah, you don't know how much I want you to._ Quatre rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, waving his hand at his understanding butler. "No, send him right in."

He heard the butler close the door, assuming that he went to escort the other businessman as asked. But a black gloved hand under his nose told him otherwise. His butler, Marc, was a...quirky...man, if he did say so himself. The traditional black and white attire a butler was to wear was quickly modified when Marc was told that he didn't have to stick with the normal dress code. He now wore all black save for the ascot which was folded neatly at the neck and of a rich cobalt blue. The Winner CEO could not help but chuckle at the man's strange behaviour.

"He seems like a pretty decent guy," the butler said, speaking softly as if he knew of the other man's pounding headache. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind waiting until then. He said he'd be here for about a month."

"I assume that you'd gone and charmed him, correct?" Quatre asked wryly. His butler also had a penchant for charming the socks off anyone who either came to visit or met with him on business. And within possibly less than five minutes, he'd let Quatre know if it's possible to postpone, like now when he wasn't feeling up to it.

He felt a sort of shameful pride coming from the black clad man and knew instantly that he was right.

"I wouldn't call it 'charm'," the other man defended. "But it's not my fault that most tend to take to me more often than not."

"You charmed him."

A huff. "Alright, boss. I'll let you win again. So do you want me to tell him to come back later?"

"No, not this time, Marc."

"Alright, but the baron's not going to like it when he calls to find out his consort's passed out from the stress." The footsteps retreated to the door and the knob was turned. "It's not easy trying to tame a wild lion, you know-"

"Just go, Duo."

A moment of frozen silence.

"Is that some other form of an Arabic word for 'idiot' that I don't know about?" The butler sounded truly puzzled for a moment before he turned to face his boss.

Quatre sighed and let his head come to rest fully on the desk. "I-I'm sorry. Just a slip of the tongue."

"You really should put this off until you get back on your feet, boss."

"No, the sooner I get this over with, the better. And stop calling me boss," Quatre added, exasperated.

"Why should I? You are my boss, aren't you?" The butler teased. "Besides, if I called you Master then things could get strained between me and the hubby, don't you think?"

"Just bring him up."

Quatre heard the butler finally leave and sighed before sitting up. He must have really been tired to let the name slip like that. It's just that the aura felt so much like Duo, but then again he'd already accepted the fact that there are other people with the same aura as him, however few. His butler, however, knew nothing of the man and the slip must have confused him. If Quatre could let himself go for a little while and just dream, he could believe for a short moment that it was Duo who worked for him and not someone parading around with a replica for his soul.

But there was no time to dream. Duo was gone, and that was reality. He was still alive, that much the blond empath knew. But where he was, happened to be a whole other story.

"Mr. Winner," came a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway. "A pleasure to meet you." The man was accompanied by another man in a black suit who stood near the doorway.

Quatre put on his best, but polite smile. "Likwise, Mr. Weiss."

The butler adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, sighing quietly for the umpteenth time at the fact that the head of the Weiss Enterprises was keeping his boss in there for longer than deemed necessary. He stood in Trowa's usual spot, near the window in the shadows with his now trademark silver platter held to his side. His face was carefully impassive, bored to the world but he paid attention to every word that was said.

"But according to the information I'd gotten on my own, your proclamations aren't parellel to the evidence I have on paper," Quatre stated calmly but firmly. To the untrained ear, he had the voice of a person with infinite patience, but to those not of the average schmuck population, they can tell that his infinite patience was running out.

"And I'm telling you the truth," Weiss insisted. The butler noticed that the silent man near the door, with his hands clasped behind him, twitched nearly inperceptively, as if waiting to pounce.

"And I'm telling you sense."

The argument, the butler decided, had gone on long enough. And then some.

Weiss' CEO sighed, almost defeated and remorsefully. "I was hoping to seal this merger without a hassle, Mr. Winner." The man swiped a hand over his face as he leaned back into one of the leather chairs before the blond empath. "But you leave me no choice."

The man at the door lunged for the Arab businessman, gun out and safety off. A shot rang through the room and all was silent save for the tiny clink made by the shell of the bullet released. The gunman was held in place by a black gloved hand at his throat and his armed hand held at an upward angle, blocked by a silver platter. The shaded eyes of the bodyguard looked at the butler with poorly concealed shock as the dark haired man released his neck in favor of the pistol in his hand.

"I'm afaid I cannot allow harm to come to my boss, gentlemen," said the butler, quite amiably for a situation such as that one. He backed off and shifted his eyeglasses casually, tucking the platter at his side once more. "This debate had been over since the irreparable flaw in your company's structure had been called upon with no possible solution. Now, if you'd be so kind, allow me to show you the door."

"Listen, Marc," Weiss said, slowly recovering from his shock. The bodyguard had long since backed up a step, but still seemed ready for any indication to attack. "You're a good guy and I don't want you hurt. Move out of the way so I can get my job done."

"I'm sorry but your job is done," said Quatre. "I'll have your company shut down and your employees granted employment elsewhere."

Marc, the butler emptied the magazine and closed the gun, handing it back to the bodyguard. "I won't be needing that, but the bullets stay here for obvious reasons." He put the bullets in his pants pocket and walked over to the door, opening it. "After you both."

Quatre looked outside his window, watching as his year-old butler waved off the limo containing an irate businessman and considerably distrubed bodyguard with a friendly smile. Marc was a puzzle, alright. He had the haunting air around him that faintly told of Duo, but a persona that shouldn't be tacked on to a butler of the Winner Estate. Then again, fifteen year old kids shouldn't be made to pilot weapons of mass distruction, so who was he to argue?

Abdul, one of the Maguanacs who had decided to stay, was looking down amusedly at the pitbull that had gotten attached to the young butler since his arrival. Those dangerous dogs were only trained not to attack certain people, but just as Marc was able to charm the living hell out of people, he was nowhere near unable to win over a pack of killer canines. However, the man had been quick to react to an assault just as well as any militant, which seems to still raise a few questions in Quatre's head.

But he was too tired and that was the last meeting of the day. He'd deal with it later, but for now, he had an understanding butler slash bodyguard- when Trowa was away, in any case- and that was all that mattered.

Marc sighed as he entered his bathroom that was tacked on to his bedroom. He was a live-in butler at the Winner Estate, since Quatre had decided to only show up at headquarters on occasion and his services were required often. He didn't mind at all. As long as he did his job, that alone paid for the room and board provided.

Then again, he did most of the cooking since maids weren't present at all hours of the day and night. They only came in and cleaned, really, and answered the phone should anyone call and leave a message. But now all they had to do was clean - if they find any dirt to clean since the butler did all of that as well.

The raven haired man closed the door behind him and flipped the light switch. In the reflection he saw a mildly tired face with mismatched eyes and unneeded glasses sitting atop a pert nose, golden skin and thin lips. Dark eyebrows were clearly visible as raven hair was pulled back into a low, loose ponytail as opposed to the impossibly tight one worn by the blond's stoic Chinese friend. Marc clicked his tongue at his reflection, as if bored with it.

He removed his glasses, placing them in a black case, carefully wrapped in its cleaning cloth, and placed in in the medicine cabinet. Poking himself into both eyes, they moved to reveal two identical violet pools, quite contrary to the amethyst and gray ones previously there. He removed his gloves, belatedly, before reaching into his hairline and removing the raven ponytail. Chestnut tresses wrapped around his head similar to a turban style, and he combed them out, the waterfall of brown falling in a straight curtain down his back and over his shoulders.

Staring back at Marc Duncan was the reflection of one, singularly named, Duo Maxwell.

...who now mourned the fact that his hair would possibly never be wavy again due to the constant wrappng and flattening.

"Well, Maxwell," he said to himself. "You've done an impeccable job as always."

He was a little unnerved at the immediate turn to his soldier instincts but it saved a life and he didn't regret it. And besides, Trowa really would have killed him if anything happened to Quatre.

Though, Duo was proud of himself for not giving himself away for so long. But the unintentional use of his name by the Winner Head was a bit unsettling. Oh, he knew Quatre had sensed him before when he'd posed as a janitor, a valet, and a mail man long before those. He grimaced when he was mistaken for a guy who'd dumped one of Quatre's closer employees, but it was a good cover in case things got a little too suspicious. Oh, Quatre had told him about it a little when he was compared to the man's 'missing' friend. This time, he didn't feel too guilty. He'd said goodbye, yeah? And he'd sent his ship off to Hilde's, so all was good. He'd made an entire year without having to lie even once. Things were looking up.

Duo fired up the shower and stepped inside, itching to give his scalp a good scrubbing. Tomorrow was another day, and who knew? It may even be as interesting as this one.

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**A/N: Spur of the moment chapter and yes, an oh-so boring chapter. But fear not! More shall come if we haz some review~s! And for those who'd watched and or read Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler for the Japanese-impaired) then you've felt the mysterious Deja-vu from the title, yes?**

**REVIEW~!**

**'tis the first time I've demanded such and really, I need it. Just to see who's sticking by me in this one. I got 140 so far on Death's Tunnel and even then they had waned. I'd wanted to become like Dyna Dee and Cj Marie (who the hell told her to delete her stories and leave, anyway?) and be one of the best GW fic writers in history and I'm going to make good on that (even if I have to stick with a certain pairing).**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well I'm back again with another chapter. I swear, Death's Tunnel was horribly written and it hurts my heart to know that. However, this sequel would do something to atone for the sin of horrible writing. I am, once again (as always) without beta and spell check, so...**

**Be warned.**

**Last chapter was more or less uneventful, but I've somewhat a plan to bring everything back up to a more concrete thing, rather than Duo running away from danger. Yes, I know that it had sucked. But I was young and stupid when I wrote it (barely a year ago...two, actually), and I am going to work on that.**

**Without further ado, I shall complete this fic, and then move on to reviving **_**Shinigami's Cross.**_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO: My Butler - Negotiator for Free Labor<strong>

Quatre walked into his study early one morning to find Marc sitting at his desk, slight frown on his face as he listened to whoever it was on the other end of the phone line. The black clad butler held the receiver to his ear with his right hand and wrote with his left, pen poised above the sheet of ruled paper. Mismatched eyes flickered up and he offered a bright smile and a tiny wave of his pen hand before responding to the speaker.

"By what I'm hearing and what I'm calculating," he hummed with surprising cadence, "your company needs more than a little assistance."

Ah. Marc was trying to seal a deal. Quatre closed the door behind himself quietly and took a seat in one of the leather chairs before his desk, eyeing the pile of paperwork that usually met resting atop its eternally clean surface. The 'In' pile had lowered considerably, and he raised his eyesbrows at the butler. Marc hadn't noticed, however, face resting into that thoughtful frown of his once more. The frown deepened and his eyes slid toward the receiver in a look of utter annoyance. However, his speech was careful and calm.

"Okay, sir," he said. "Let's look at it this way: if you accept, then there's little to no way your company can go belly-up and you can keep most of your man power; you may even gain a few more workers. That, and the massive debt pile I'm tallying could disappear in a matter of five to seven years, maximum." Marc sighed after a few moments of silence. "Alright, Mr. Jackson. What can I do to convince you?"

A beat later, Marc covered the mouthpiece and outright grimaced before turning to his boss. "This guy, Jackson is the head of a mass producing carpentry service," he gestured vaguely to the files on the desk before him. "I've seen the numbers and I know he needs the boost WEI can give if he seals the merger. However, he believes that I'm shamming him, the idiot. Looks like he wouldn't believe a word I say unless he speaks to you himself. Oh, and good morning, boss."

"Quatre," the WEI head corrected futilely, knowing that it would land on deaf ears. "And good morning to you, too, Marc."

Marc, seemingly belatedly, returned his attention to the man on the phone. "Look, sir. If you really don't believe me, then should I arrange a meeting and have you spend the only thousand credits you have in the company's name, have my boss buy you out, or do you want this agreement faxed to you for official signing?"

There was a few more moments of silence before Marc stood and walked toward the fax machine. "...four, nine, seven three. Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for your co-operation. Good day to you, too."

Marc walked back over to the desk and set the receiver on the cradle, closing the file and setting it in the 'out' pile. "So, that's six mergers, three severs, and twelve meetings scheduled over the next three weeks. There have been a few rescheduled ones, and I'd denied a few, since their reasons were baseless. Is there anything special you'd like for breakfast, boss?"

Quatre blinked in mild surprise. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that Marc was a born businessman. He could have run a company quite well. However, the blond could hazard a selfish thought and say that he was proud to have this man as his butler.

"Anything would be fine."

Marc straightened his own clothes and took for the door. "So that'll be pancakes with the butter on top, coffee with the cream and the sugar, eggs, bacon and sausages."

"That'll be a heart attack on a plate, Marc."

"And that's brain damage on paper," Marc pointed to the 'In' pile on the desk with a raised eyebrow. He grinned when Quatre shook his head at him. "I'll be back before you know it."

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><p><strong>AN: Well, not much has happened. But mark my words, something WILL! It's just that my inspiration's been kind of lacking, some. Hope you've enjoyed that litle short. Rest assured that the drama and angst will come soon (in like, three or four chapters).**


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